by Rita Herron
The maid offered them coffee, but she and Brett both declined. Her stomach was too tied in knots to think about drinking or eating anything.
A big man, she guessed around six-one, two hundred and eighty pounds, sauntered in wearing a dress Western shirt and jeans that looked as if they’d been pressed. An expensive diamond-crusted ring glittered from one hand, while a gold rope chain circled his thick neck.
Brett introduced them and shook the man’s hand. Gates removed his hat and set it on his desk in a polite gesture as he greeted Willow.
Gates pulled a hand down his chin. “McCullen, you’re one of Joe’s boys, the one that’s the big rodeo star, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I was sorry to hear about your daddy,” Gates said. “He was a good man.”
“Yes, he was.” Brett’s expression looked pained. He obviously hadn’t expected condolences from the man.
“Care for a drink?” Gates gestured toward the bar, but Brett and Willow declined.
“So what do I owe the honor? You here to find out my trade secrets?” Gates emitted a blustery laugh.
Brett laughed, too, but it sounded forced. “No, sir, although if you want to share, I’m sure my brother Maddox would love to talk.”
Gates harrumphed. “I guess he would.”
Willow squared her shoulders. “Mr. Gates, did you know my husband, Leo Howard?”
Gates’s mustache twitched with a frown as he claimed a seat behind his desk. “Name don’t ring a bell.”
“How about Gus Garcia?” Brett asked.
Gates’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “That bastard tried to steal from under me. Why are you asking about him?”
“We believe that the men Garcia partnered with were in cahoots with Leo Howard.”
Willow watched for a reaction, but the man didn’t show one. “I don’t understand. Garcia confessed and is in prison. I don’t know about any partners. But since they locked Garcia up, I haven’t had any more trouble.”
“You knew a man named Dale Franklin was killed during the arrest? Two other men, Jasper Day and Wally Norman were also involved.”
Gates planted both hands on the desk. “All I know is that after they put Garcia away, I cleaned house around here, brought in a whole new crew of hands.”
He’d cleaned house to protect his business from corruption? Or to eliminate suspicion from himself for illegal activities?
Brett leaned forward, hands folded. “Do you know where we could find Day or Norman?”
“No, and I don’t want to know.”
Willow stood and approached his desk. “Mr. Gates, I think my ex-husband and those men rustled cattle and made a lot of money doing it, that they stashed the money somewhere, and I need to know where it is.”
Gates shot up from his seat, his jowls puffing out with rage. “What the hell? You think I had something to do with them? Listen here, woman, they stole from me, not for me.”
“Mr. Gates,” Brett said, holding out a calming hand. “We aren’t accusing you of anything. We just want to know if you have any idea where either of those men are.”
“No.” Gates started around his desk. “Now you two have worn out your welcome.”
Willow flipped her phone around and jammed it in the man’s face. “Look, Mr. Gates, someone kidnapped my little boy. His name is Sam. I think Day and Norman are responsible. They’re demanding the money Leo made off the cattle rustling in exchange for my son. If I don’t find it, I might not see my son again.”
* * *
BRETT STUDIED GATES for telltale signs that he was behind the kidnapping. Gates was a formidable man. If Leo had stolen from him, he had motive for murder.
But Gates paled as he studied the photograph. “You think those men sent that to you?”
“The man didn’t identify himself,” Willow said. “But he said he wanted the money Leo stole. And if I don’t find it, they’ll hurt my little boy.”
Gates pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry about your child, miss, but I don’t know anything about a kidnapping or any money. And that’s the gospel.”
“Are you sure?” Brett asked. “You’ve built an empire awfully quickly. Maybe we should have your herd checked to make sure some of your cattle weren’t stolen?”
Gates whirled on Brett in a rage. “How dare you come to my house and suggest such a thing. Now, get out.”
“Mr. Gates,” Willow cried. “If you have any idea how to find my son, please help me.”
Gates’s tone rumbled out, barely controlled. “I told you, I don’t know anything.”
Brett crossed his arms. “Think about it, Gates. Kidnapping is a capital offense. If you help—”
Gates stepped forward and jerked Brett by the arm. “I said get out.”
* * *
WILLOW WAS TREMBLING as she and Brett left the Circle T.
“Do you think he was lying about knowing Leo?”
Brett’s brows were furrowed as he drove away. “I think he’s a ruthless man who’s made a lot of money fast.”
“What are we going to do now?” Willow asked. Her hopes were quickly deflating.
“I’ve been trying to think of another place where Leo might hide the money. You said his mother died. Where is she buried?”
Willow wrung her hands together. “I don’t know. He didn’t like to talk about her.”
The windshield wipers swished back and forth as the rain fell, the night growing longer as she imagined little Sam locked in some scary place alone.
Brett punched in a number on his phone. “Mr. Howard, this is Brett McCullen again. Can you tell me where your wife was buried?” A pause. “Thank you.”
He ended the call and spun around in the opposite direction. “She’s in a memorial garden not far from Laramie.”
Willow closed her eyes as he drove, but rest didn’t come. Images of Sam flashed through her mind like a movie trailer. Sam being born, that little cleft chin and dimple so similar to Brett’s that it had robbed her breath.
Sam, the day he’d taken his first step—they had been outside in the grass and he’d seen a butterfly and wanted to chase it. A smile curved her mouth as she remembered his squeal of delight when he’d tumbled down the hill and the butterfly had landed on his nose.
Then Christmas when he’d wanted a horseshoe set. And his third birthday when she’d taken him to the county fair, and he’d had his first pony ride. Dressed in a cowboy shirt, jeans and hat, he’d looked like a pro sitting astride the pony.
He would have loved to watch Brett at the rodeo.
But she’d known watching Brett compete would be difficult.
Every time she’d seen a tabloid with his photograph or a picture of a woman on his arm or kissing him, she’d cried. So she’d finally avoided the rodeo magazines.
Although how could she escape Brett when each time she looked at Sam, she saw his father’s face?
Exhausted, she must have dozed off because when she stirred, they’d reached the graveyard. Rain and the cold made the rows of granite markers and tombstones look even more desolate.
Brett parked and reached for the door handle, but she caught his arm. “You aren’t going to disturb that poor woman’s grave, are you?”
A dark look crossed Brett’s face. “We put Leo in the ground, Willow. I’ll do whatever I have to in order to save Sam.”
Tears blurred her eyes. She thought she’d loved Brett before, but even if he walked away when she got Sam back, she would always love him for what he’d done to help her.
* * *
“WHAT THE HELL have you done?”
He clenched the phone, his knuckles white. “I did what I had to do.”
“You kidnapped a kid? What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking about getting that damn money. Howard refused to tell me where he hid it.”
“So you killed him?”
“He came at me and tried to grab the gun from me. It just went off.”
&
nbsp; “This is some screwed-up mess. I don’t want to go to prison for kidnapping.”
“What about me? I could be charged with murder.” His breath quickened. “That’s the reason I took the kid. I need that money to skip the country. And I figured Howard must have told his wife where it was.”
“But she claims she doesn’t know. She’s hooked up with one of those McCullen boys and they’re asking questions all over the place.”
“The woman has to be lying. Let her sweat a little over the kid and she’ll give it up.”
Chapter Fourteen
Brett felt as if the walls were closing in. Like the fear that chewed at his gut before he rode a bull these days. The fear that he might not come out whole... Or even alive.
But he didn’t care if he died, if Willow got her son back.
Still, he was playing a dangerous game. Burying dead bodies, hiding the truth from the law, desecrating a grave when he’d been taught all his life to respect the dead.
Surely Leo wouldn’t have dug deep enough to disturb his mother’s coffin, and he would have needed equipment if he actually stored the cash inside the casket. So it made sense that he would have dug a shallow hole.
The rain splattering the grave marker reminded him of Willow’s tears and the fact that they’d just buried his father, and his tombstone hadn’t been ready at the funeral. Maddox had ordered it.
He wondered what Maddox had written on the headstone.
Pushing his own grief aside, he examined the dirt on Mrs. Howard’s grave, looking for signs that it had been disturbed lately. Of course, Leo could have buried the money here when he’d first married Willow.
Then he’d sat back biding his time until interest in the cattle rustling case died down and no one was looking for him.
Rain dripped off his Stetson and down into his shirt collar as he dug deeper, raking the dirt aside. Another shovelful of dirt, and he moved slightly to the right to check that area. The wet dirt was packed, but he dumped it aside, only to find more dirt.
Questions about Leo pummeled him as he continued to explore one spot then the next. Could Leo have hidden the money in Willow’s house? No...she said she’d rented that place after they’d separated...
But he had gone back to see her the day he’d died...
Irritated that he had no answers, he kept digging, but forty-five minutes later, he realized his efforts were futile.
Leo had not buried the money in his mother’s grave. Maybe he had some kind of moral compass after all.
Whispering an apology to the woman in the ground, he covered the grave with the dirt again, making quick work of the mess he’d made, then smoothing it out to show some respect.
Finally satisfied that he hadn’t totally desecrated the memory of the woman in the ground, he wiped rain from his face and strode back to the truck. Willow sat looking out the window over the graveyard, her eyes a mixture of hope and grief.
He wanted to make her smile again. Fill her mind with dreams and promises of a happy future, the way they’d once done when they sneaked out to the barn and made love.
“It wasn’t there, was it?” she said, her voice low. Pained. Defeated.
“I’m sorry.” He climbed in and reached for her, but she turned toward the window, arms wrapped around her waist, shutting down.
That frightened him more than anything. If they didn’t find Sam tonight, it would be the second night she’d been without her son. The second terrifying night of wondering if he was dead or alive.
* * *
WILLOW WAITED IN the truck as Brett stopped by the cabin to check on Valeria and Ana Sofia.
When he returned to the truck, he waved to the rancher Maddox had asked to watch the woman and her child. Ron had parked himself outside the cabin and seemed to be taking his role of bodyguard seriously.
“I’m glad she’s safe. She was a brave lady to help me,” Willow said, her heart in her throat.
Brett drove to the cabin where they were staying. “Don’t give up, Willow. I’m still working on liquidating some funds. At least enough to make a trade and satisfy these men.”
She murmured her appreciation, although hope waned with every passing hour.
Brett tossed her an umbrella and she ran through the sludge up to the cabin door. As soon as they entered, she ducked into the bathroom and closed the door. Tears overflowed, her sobs so painful, she couldn’t breathe.
She flipped on the shower water, undressed, climbed in and let the hot water sluice over her, mingling with her tears. When the water finally cooled, she forced herself to regain control, dried off and dragged on a big terry-cloth robe. She towel dried her hair, letting the long strands dangle around her face, took a deep breath and stepped into the den.
Brett was standing with a drink in his hand, his eyes worried as he offered her the tumbler. “Drink this. I need to clean up.”
She hadn’t noticed how muddy and soaked he was, but he’d been out in the freezing rain digging for that money for over an hour. He had to be cold and exhausted.
But he still looked as handsome as sin.
She accepted the shot of whiskey and carried it to the sofa where he’d lit a fire. Tired and terrified, she sank onto the couch and sipped the amber liquid, grateful for the warmth of the fire and the alcohol that burned from the inside out.
The flames flickered and glowed a hot orange red, the wood crackling as the rain continued to beat like a drum against the roof. The shower kicked on, and she imagined Brett standing beneath the water, naked and more virile than any man had a right to be.
It would have been romantic, if she wasn’t so worried about Sam.
The door opened and Brett walked in, his jeans slung low on his lean hips, his chest bare, water still dotting the thick, dark chest hair. Her breath caught, her body ached, the need to be with him so strong that she felt limp from want and fear.
If she allowed herself to lean on him, she would fall apart when he left.
“Let me grab a shirt.” He ducked into the bedroom, saving her from herself. But a light knock sounded on the door.
Assuming it was Maddox, or perhaps Ron, bringing Valeria and her daughter over, she walked over and opened the door.
A blond-haired woman in a short red dress and cowboy boots stood on the other side aiming a pistol at Willow’s heart.
* * *
BRETT JAMMED HIS ARMS in his shirtsleeves, determined to dress before he wrapped Willow in his arms and dragged her to bed. She looked so sad and frightened and desolate on that couch. And her tear-swollen eyes when she’d emerged from the bathroom had torn him inside out.
He was buttoning the first button when he stepped back into the hallway and saw Kitty at the door. His heart began to pound. What was she doing here? How had she found him?
“Who...are you?” Willow whispered. “What do you want?”
Brett inched closer, shock hitting him at the sight of her fingers wrapped around that pistol. “Kitty? What the hell are you doing?”
Kitty waved the gun in Willow’s face. “You bitch. You can’t have Brett. He’s mine.”
Willow lifted her hands in surrender. “You... I saw your picture with Brett.”
Brett gritted his teeth. The gossipmongers made it look as if he and Kitty were a hot item. That he was constantly entertaining women in hotels and his RV, even in the stables between rides. That he even indulged in orgies with women he met online and at the honky-tonks.
“You can’t have him,” Kitty screeched. “I love Brett and he loves me, don’t you, sugar?”
Brett recognized the psycho look in Kitty’s eyes. It was the same look she’d had the night she broke into his hotel room and he found her waiting in his bed, naked and oiled, crying and threatening suicide if he didn’t marry her that night.
He inched closer, watching her for signs that she intended to fire that gun. “Kitty, it’s all right. Just put down the pistol. This is not what you think.”
She glared at him, then at Willow.
“Not what it looks like? You’re both half-naked and alone in this cabin.” She waved the gun at Willow. “But you can’t have him. Brett and I are meant to be together.”
Willow lifted her chin. “Brett is just an old friend. Nothing is happening here. I swear.”
Just an old friend? Was that how she saw him?
Kitty’s hand trembled, and she fluffed her long blond curls with her free hand. “Is that true, Brett? She means nothing to you?”
Brett swallowed hard, and gave Willow a look that he hoped she understood. One that silently encouraged her to play along. “That’s right. Willow and I knew each other in high school. I’m just helping her out with a problem.”
Kitty moved forward, hips swaying as she curved one arm around Brett’s neck. “Then you’ve told her about us?”
Brett kept his eyes on the gun.
“I saw the pictures of you two together, Kitty,” Willow cut in. “You’re a lucky girl to have Brett.”
“No, I’m the lucky one.” Brett lifted a hand to stroke Kitty’s hair and pasted on his photo-ready smile. Even the times he’d been sick or bruised and half-dead from being thrown, he’d used that smile. “Come on, honey. Let’s go outside and take a walk. I’ll show you my ranch.”
Kitty gave Willow a wry look as if to say she’d just won a victory, and Brett ushered Kitty toward the door. “You’ll love Horseshoe Creek.”
Kitty batted her lashes at him, her eyes full of stars. Or maybe she was high on drugs.
She leaned into him, and he stepped onto the porch with her, then escorted her down the steps. When they’d reached the landing, he made his move. He grabbed the gun from her, then twisted her arm behind her back, and pulled her against him so she couldn’t move. “This is it, Kitty. You’ve gone too far.”
She struggled to get away, but he kept a strong hold on her arm and yelled for Willow. The door screeched open, and Willow poked her head out.
“Brett?”
“Call Maddox,” he said between gritted teeth. “She’s going to jail.”
* * *
WILLOW WAS STILL trembling when Maddox arrived. She tightened the belt on her robe and waited inside while Brett explained the situation to his brother.